Get Use To It

Campus Bitch, Boobs and I headed into DC for some God Awful legislative forum discussion on Parks and Recreation.

It drove us to drink.

 We found ourselves at Bus Boys and Poets on 14th and V asking for any beer that tastes more like piss than class.

Me: Ahh, do you have anything ... mmm... like American? Like the stuff that every other country talks shit about?
Middle Eastern Waiter: Ahh...

He headed to the back and returned with a PBR. Said they had just gotten a shipment in and they keep it in the back- they only had twelve in stock.

Me: Bring out a six pack
Waiter: I will not judge
Me: Good, cause I thought you were... glad you clarified

And then we became best friends, which resulted in me drinking too many beers and doing this...

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Dandelion Weekend

This past weekend was similar to a dandelion patch in Spring...right after you spray them with some intoxicating death sentence.

Think about it...

Infact, go ahead and look outside.

You see those little yellow suckers popping up on the edge of every sidewalk?

They are literally growing in laughter, purposely pissing you and your property off.

Then you kill them... 

But they are still there… 

Waiting for you to pick them up and throw them out.

Dandelion number one- waiting to be thrown out. 

This was taken on Saturday morning. She is lying on the stairs, just a few feet away from the couch. The previous night was spent scootering, and drinking excessively. I'm not exactly sure of her name, but I do know Campus Bitch put her to sleep just moments before this.

This is Sunday morning, sometime around 10am. Two dandelions smelling more like beer than pollen- waiting for me to throw them out.

The one to the right is dating the girl that lives up the stairs (We have yet to figure out why he couldn't walk the 16 steps up). 

The one on the couch- not sure where he came from... 

They spent the night anticipating the sunrise- don't think they made it.

...

To conclude, I would like to thank Tits and her friend Hippie, for visiting from Ohio State. I know you are out about 50 bucks out and missing pieces of your dignity. 

Love 

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Poem to Campus Bitch

I'm writing with my eyes closed (Because Campus Bitch made me)

Now they're open.

And I dedicate this poem to her,

And while I write it, envision her shoving down a massive cow (that I made) because that is what she is doing... fatass.

The night was a bore,
But then my friend (who's a whore)
Said let's make steak
So I don't hesitate
And then I heated it up because i had already made it last night
Then the night was no longer a bore

For the Poetry Lovers: hannahsafren.weebly.com

Tragedy on 81

81 is known for the speed, the trucks and the morons…

Boobs, Beaver and Campus Bitch were on there way back from scooping up a free water-ice from Rita’s to celebrate the first day of Spring, when Campus Bitch decided to do the whole flexing fist movement to a passing truck.

Yes, the same movement you did as a child, to get the driver to honk his horn.

Well… the driver honked his horn and in utter excitement, the child within erupted.

Boobs had been checking out her GPS- admiring it’s magical ability to “recalculate.”

As soon as the horn blasted, up went Boob’s hands and out went the GPS… literally out…right out the window… where it still lies alone- probably tattered in pieces from those crazies on 81.

But then life went on.

And while we cooked up a little dinner and sipped on two dollar wine, a nice young neighbor approached our door.

That little girl-scout lookin’ fourth grader didn’t even have any cookies. In fact, she was just asking for donations from some American Heart Association.

“So you want our money you little Munchkin?”

“Yeah.”

“And what do we get?”

“To sign your name here…”

Our house combined donated 6 one dollar bills, 3 quarters, 2 dimes and a nickel…

And one day, when we are holding our hearts on our death beds, sucking in our last few breaths, we will wish we would have scrounged up a few more pennies.

May God Bless.

For the Poetry Lovers: hannahsafren.weebly.com

Everyday Events

1. There we were... well actually I wasn't really watching, but my roommates were and surprise surprise we still don't know who the fuck A is (Kind of)...

Don't even bother reading Twitter unless you want to experience how Pretty Little Liars managed to consume morons one episode at a time...

2. I was reading Cosmo- well, scanning it really (I estimate my reading level is equivalent to a nine year old and anything beyond a couple paragraphs is a no-go) BUT I spotted the following: 

My roommate (I won't spill names, but she has abnormal hair) is not just in this 35%, but actually spends 35% of her day stalking through every possible social media outlet.

In fact, I believe it's fair to say she tallies in enough hours to compensate for the 65% of men and women more interested in themselves than their significant others.

She, who must not be named, might call this 65%, conceited... self-centered, perhaps? Might wonder even why this 65% wouldn't want to know the unknown.

The 65% however, would not wonder at all- they understand... she has red hair.

3. My roommate, Teach, discovered God's gift of coffee approximately two months ago. Since then, her OCD has kicked in and she is averaging somewhere between 2 and 10 cups a day- even booting the creamer for the straight black taste... Bad Ass.

4. Since 6:30 AM this morning, I must have said I was going to do homework somewhere between 6 and 79 times- depending on who you talk to the number will vary.

It is nearing 10PM and have yet to start, because I realized our entire household is consumed in addictions. All a bit corky and obnoxious and hey, maybe fucking annoying to an outsider,  but I thought writing about them was more interesting than breaking them...

I shall do my homework now.

For the Poetry Lovers: hannahsafren.weebly.com

The Meaning of St. Patrick's Day

I heard the problem with Americans is that we will use any excuse to drink.

I hardly think that is a problem, but that brings me to St. Patrick's Day- A great excuse to drink.

St Patrick’s Day is a religious and cultural holiday meant to commemorate St. Patrick. Since the seventeenth century it has become a celebration of the Irish Culture…

Not sure how the United States took that information and turned it into five dollar pitchers of green beer and an overdose of Irish trash cans, but the American in me faced the evening willingly.

Of course we dressed in our best green: 

And hugged aggressively in celebration of leprechauns and gold:

And ultimately, it was a good ol' patty-cake night.

I was able to rekindle my 1/2 Irish side that is often overlooked by my more dominant, big-nosed, Jewish side (not good at sharing/ Stingy= makes sense). Unfortunately, despite embracing the Irish within, the night wasn't a complete success, due to our missing roommate, Campus Bitch.

She got carried away with searching the floors of York College for four-leaf clovers. 

She didn't even find one...

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Two Gays, One Girl

The other night, I walked into a room of two gays and one girl.
All high as shit,

Or so it appeared.

The two gays were nice young girls and the girl was a nice young opera singing homo.

Opera Man was convinced to sing and I fell in love with those German words I did not understand.

Try it out- the opera shit. I mean it’s no Snoop Dog, but if you appreciate music, you will enjoy...

After belting out his soul, Opera Lesbian Man said that he belonged on Chelsea Lately. 

I, of course, proceeded to say, “She is Jewish!” 

And he of course proceeded to say, “I know, that’s why I love her!”

And then I left…

When my parents told me that college was going to be an eye-opening experience, I think this was the type of situation they were referring to.

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Catching Up...

Ex Lover: Eric Church came on my Ipod the other day and I thought about youuuu


Me: I'm sure that's the only time you've thought about me


Ex Lover: Ummm I have one of your t-shirts and every once in a while I feel like cutting it up and that makes me think of you too


Me: Ohh


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Drink and Skate

Picture this:

Campus Bitch rollin like a big shot right down Starkeys Landing on her super cool longboard. It's almost 2am at this point, so it’s fair to say that if your driving in a car you probably shouldn’t be and if your riding a skateboard, well… you probably shouldn’t be.

Loaded with tequila and God knows what else, Campus Bitch finds herself just seconds away from her destination- Ozzy’s house.

Perfect timing decides to arrive…

Ozzy pulls around the corner in her SUV, in a blurry daze of booze and headlights, Campus Bitch finds herself swerving/ caught off guard, and well… she fell.

This results in a series of mysterious events- In fact, it redefined "drunk" for me.

Campus Bitch hops up from the street, leaves her skateboard and starts sprinting home. Of course, Ozzy had parked and is chasing after her asking if she is okay, insisting she come back.

Instead, Campus Bitch continues in full motion, only looking back to shout, “Get my skateboard!"

She proceeds to run OUT of her vans sneakers (I find this incredible) and turns her head once more to scream, “Get my sneakers!”

She finally arrives home with a bloody gash on her hip and knee, no shoes and no skateboard.

Unfortunately the journey is not over, she had misplaced her cell phone. 

Disaster.

She retraced her steps to the other side of the neighborhood, where Ozzy convinced Campus Bitch to let her clean the cuts.

Then came the tears... pussy.

For the next 15 minutes, Campus Bitch cried and screamed about how this catastrophe was ALL Ozzy's fault. Saying phrases such as:

Why would you be driving you idiot...

This is all your fault…
You were coming right at me!

etc. 

Ozzy calmly responded with I know, I know…You fucking moron.

There was a guy over at Ozzy's who mistakenly tried to chime in to ease the situation, but that only resulted in campus Bitch screaming, "Who are you!? I don't even know you! Stop talking!"

What a bitch.

The following morning she remembered and apologized for everything, but still can't remember what pants she was wearing, if any...

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OLD

Remember the days when feeling good was far more satisfying than actually being good?

When wearing this bracelet under the age of 21 most likely meant you were fucking loaded and acting incredibly immature?

Those were fun days.

Now I'm just old. And over 21. And that underage beer is catching up to me.

And I'm boring. And I like poetry: www.hannahsafren.weebly.com

My Yoga Career

My roommates and I headed to "Yoga for Athletes" - figured we would ease ourselves into the more reserved activities.

I knew it was gonna be a little iffy as soon as the instructor said that we would be reviewing the doggy position during the evening's class.

I kept my composure.

It took me approximately three minutes just to get over the fact that imitating a monkey while humming was fucking lame...but I eventually convinced myself to enjoy the moment and experience the art.

Unfortunately, while I was still humming, eyes closed, with both of my hands massaging my stomach, these dumbasses chose not to tell me that we were now “Inhaling the sun and Exhaling good morning.”

I suppose I should have heard Miss Yoga Master repeating that obnoxiously un-soothing calming technique (I can't even imagine how inhaling the sun would feel against my throat) but she had specifically told us to ignore all our daily distractions and at that time my only distraction was her annoying voice and muffin top.

Two minutes two late, I finally open my eyes- only to see Red, Teach, Boobs and Campus Bitch holding their hands over their mouths to silence their friendly giggles. 

Cunts.

I spent the next three minutes praying to God- begging him to stop my laughter.

After he didn't answer, I attempted to convince myself that I had terminal cancer hoping to initiate a few tears. That only furthered my ruckus because if I had terminal cancer I wouldn't be wasting my time doing fucking downward doggy style yoga.

God hates me.

And so does Yoga Queen Cunt Master. She sternly shouted, "If your gonna be disrespectful, you need to leave.”

I could have simply said, “I get the point bitch... gee," and made a clean escape, but instead I responded with "I'm so sorry ma'am... it's uhhh... it's a medical condition."

(This is when all the Jews should rub their forehead and whisper “Oy Vey”)

To my defense it wasn’t a complete lie, my ADHD medicine had worn off hours ago.

Basically, the belly rolls went down hill from there. While everyone was touching their toes, I grabbed my shoes and sneakily stomped out.

I then proceeded to go to the opposite window, which allows a perfect view into the yoga room, so I could flick off my roommates from a distance.

Only Red saw me.

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Epic

This is an edited version of a 6 minute clip featuring Red and I

This is the following morning's conversation

Pretty much wraps up our relationship.

For the Poetry Lovers: hannahsafren.weebly.com

Stress Relief

I was reading this article about college students and their excessive stress levels during midterms and finals- I'm not linking it to my blog because it will only stress you out.

It basically concluded that massages can ease your tension. Some universities even started offering them at discounted prices during those “High stress weeks.”

All I want to know is while I’m getting this “stress relieving one hour massage,” who will be writing my 12 page paper?

Unless it’s you… I don’t want your fucking massage- I’m busy.

Idiots.

For the Poetry Lovers: Hannahsafren.weebly.com

Stop It

NARP'S ... Are bad asses.

This whole drinking consecutive days in a row thing is making me a bit woozy.

I'm laying low tonight, choosing pounds of forgotten homework and lukewarm coffee over the booze. 

Bummer.

I do want to make it clear though, that I have all intentions of becoming that beer drinking NARP I've always hoped to be.

See, I grew up listening to my Dad telling random people smoking on the street to "Keep smoking, Bro!" Usually furthering his initial comment with something like, "You're no quitter buddy" or "Quitting is for losers."

I am no loser.

So for now I'm training. Taking it day by day- just putting in the struggle to be the best I can be.

Flashback to last night:

I started the epic journey third wheelin' it with Big Red and her lover, Shaggy. Before I knew it we were raging like true locals at Tony's (a dive bar in town for the strangers reading in)

While immaturely chugging Bud Light and demolishing bacon cheese fries, Red and I began to picture our life on the scale over the next few weeks. This was of course followed by us convincing ourselves that that wasn't going to happen and we were gonna hit the gym hard in the next week or so...

Bringing me to my topic of the day- Stuffing your face.

WHY

Are we so fat?

PRIME EXAMPLE: Ball-So-Hard (a newfound friend that we spent majority of our underclassman years shit talking) just walked in to my room with a bowl of ice cream. 

After chatting it up a bit, she took a deep breath and slurped down those last few bites- which only resulted in me wondering why she didn't just put down the fucking spoon you fat fuck.

But then I remembered that I do that daily. Don't you lie to yourself- you do it too, it's called being American.

NUMBER ONE NARP RULE and advice for the day: Stop fucking eating. 

For The Poetry Lovers: www.HannahSafren.weebly.com

Go Time

At around 5pm yesterday I found myself contemplating drinking or doing work… 

I chugged a beer and took a nap.

Later in the evening, my nerdy roommates were doing homework and watching TV preparing for their incredibly lame week of studies.

I was bored.

So knowing how easily influenced they are, I tweeted:

"Where is the fun #FuckingFakeNARPS over here at 420"

Boobs postponed her paper, for a bottle of wine and a game of spades with Campus Bitch and I.

Then we headed out to rule the world.

We bought a $1.75 pitcher of Natty Light, met the owner, and chatted with the richest man in the eastern pan-handle about "heart and dedication"

Daily advice (compliments of rich guy): "People will tell ya you can't," you tell them "Really... and then ya go do it."

Despite our deep conversations, the most flattering part of the night was when Ryan bought a pitcher of beer for us…

Who the fuck is Ryan? And thanks for the two –dollar pitcher, ya big spending fuck…

Oops...

It's the little things that get ya by sometimes...

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Awkward Moment

Awkward moment:

When you are in a one-person public restroom and someone knocks on the door.

Possible responses:

I typically respond with, “I’m in here!”

But this only leaves the knocker to wonder who “I’m” is. Possibly spending the next few moments imaging an entire life for the mysterious “I’m” only to be disappointed at the sight of “I’m” when “I’m” exits… or incredibly elated.

My roommate Red just stays quiet, because the door is locked.

This is just a dick move, Red

My roommate, Boobs, typically responds, “If you’re a guy, come on in!”

Which typically results in no response and an empty exit… oh well.

My roommate, Campus Bitch, responds similar to myself, except more ignorant, “Someone is in here!”

Who is “someone” ya cunt nugget?

Daily advice: Respond with “Just a minute!”

I did not think this genius response up, but it must be shared.

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